by Nick Morris
“I would not have thought so…until last night.”
“I’d better get back then,” said Prudes, taking another long drink. He tucked the remaining bread and cheese inside his tunic for the return journey.
“I take it the pair of them are fine?”
“Loved up,” said Prudes, before adding with a tired smile, “and it’s playing hell with my sleep.”
Belua sighed knowingly.
“And you’ve said nothing to Zamura?”
“Only that I’ll be gone for a while. On my advice she’s also taken a holiday away from the city. As a precaution.”
“Good.”
“Time to go,” said Prudes, heading for the door.
“Prudes,” Belua called to his back. “Tell Clodian…” he seemed to struggle with the words. “Tell him that I’ll visit soon.”
“I will. He’ll be pleased.”
“And, be careful,” said Belua. It was the first time his friend had ever said this to him.
“Always,” he replied, stepping into the sun.
After Prudes’ departure Belua watched the rays of the sun slowly retreat across the room’s wooden floor as dusk approached. The talk of eager love, of Clodian and Orbiana, had triggered a rare time of reflection. It was something that he rarely dwelled on. The memory of his wife and son’s death still ached like an old wound despite the passage of time, and he still worried that one day his wife’s special smile would fade when he shut his eyes to remember. He’d loved her greatly, believing that he’d never find such closeness with another.
He’d been wrong, and despite the passing years the memory of Elissa and his feelings for her was still fresh in his mind.
After winning his freedom in Rome’s Great Circus (see prequel, War Raven), he’d indulged in all manner of fleshy pleasures. Some he could remember, while others were lost in the fog of drunkenness that characterised his new found liberty. Yet, he’d never forgotten his first time with her, just one of a thousand whores in the mother city. From Carthage, she was shapely but no great beauty. It was her tenderness that drew him to her. He’d been with whores before, but he soon found that he was returning to the same brothel and lying with the same woman.
Later, he’d pay for Elissa’s company for the entire night. She would tell him about her life in Carthage before she was enslaved; about a simple but contented life. A life that ended brutally when her father was convicted of sedition. He was sentenced to the cross along with her mother. Elissa was sold and then shipped to Rome.
She told him that she’d been named after a famous queen of her people, as well as speaking of other things too – about Baal, her people’s god of healing and their famous commander – the great Hannibal Barca. She retold how he’d won many victories against Rome over two hundred years past. He’d listened avidly as she described how this Hannibal had led a great army of war-elephants over high mountains that brushed into the sky, eventually arriving in Rome’s northern lands. She’d sounded sad when she relayed how Hannibal had finally been defeated, and how even now the soil of Carthage struggled to bear crops after Rome had levelled the great city and sown the ground with salt. Belua had not found it hard to believe, and he too talked of his people’s struggle with Rome, his early life and the loss of his family.
As the days passed their intimacy went beyond the mere release of his seed. Maybe it was what he chose to believe? Eventually, he knew that their relationship could not continue as it was. He no longer had the funds to regularly purchase her time, and the thought of her lying with other men tortured him. And he was unable simply to buy her.
One night he told Elissa that he could not see her again. She’d cried, not saying a word. He’d left before he did something rash, like stealing her away, with the cross being their fate when caught.
Within days he realized that he could not be apart from her. He made a decision to do something he’d sworn to never repeat. He would again fight in the arena and with his fee buy Elissa’s freedom. It would be his last fight.
He recalled his excitement as he entered the brothel on the outskirts of the Subura. He was eager to give Elissa the good news. He couldn’t wait to see her and hold her, to see the relief on her face.
The lino had greeted him as usual. Belua informed him that he would buy Elissa’s time for the night. The lino informed him that she had been buried in a pauper’s unmarked grave outside the city’s walls two days previously. He told Belua that she’d hung herself on the night he’d made his last visit. A shocking coldness washed over him, and he felt as if the walls were collapsing inwards.
Cruel realization dawned on him when the lino clapped him on the shoulder, telling him not to worry, because he’d employed the services of another African whore who would certainly be able to cater to his needs.
After breaking the lino’s jaw, he’d rushed out into the night. He’d drank for two days and nights without pause.
Since that dreadful night he’d never forgiven himself for faltering or Elissa for leaving him the way she did.
Chapter 29
THE WATCHER
She immediately noticed that something was amiss with Akana and wasted no time enquiring about the meeting.
“Did you give him the information and the map locating the villa?”
“Yes,” Akana answered. Her face looked strained and she clutched her cloak tightly at the front as if trying to hide something.
“Was the information suffice?”
“He said he has everything he needs.”
“Good,” said Flavia. “So tell me. What else transpired?”
“What do you mean?” queried Akana, looking pale despite her naturally dusky complexion.
“I know you, girl,” said Flavia, a little vexed, “so don’t let me ask again.”
After a brief silence, Akana spat out the words as if they were something foul. “He fucked me…I had no choice.”
Flavia approached her, and without preamble slipped her hand inside her tunic, probing between her legs with her fingers. Akana looked surprised but allowed her to proceed.
Withdrawing her hand, Flavia rubbed her fingers together, smiling perversely. There was blood amongst the man-fluid.
“He took you when it was your bleeding time?” she prompted.
“No, he cut me.”
Taken aback, Flavia instructed, “Show me.”
Akana lifted her tunic. Her plump breasts were covered in raised teeth marks, her blue brown nipples inflamed; the product of rough attention. Flavia’s eyes traced over her body, the silky smooth skin the colour of chestnuts. She paused above the thick black hair of her pubis. There was a wound cut in the clear shape of a snake, cut by a very sharp knife. The skin around the effigy was red and swollen, but had been carved with considerable skill and attention to detail. She mused that it was quite an achievement considering the obvious pain it caused the subject. Flavia’s fingers traced the raised shape of the serpent, a shock of pleasure running through her.
“He’s an animal,” said Akana, the hate clearly etched on her face.
“Yes, he is,” agreed Flavia, “a very intriguing one. “
Akana lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Go, bathe,” Flavia counselled. She watched Akana rearrange her clothing then leave the room. Alone, she wondered if Coluber would entertain a meeting with her, after his work was done?
Picturing the bloody serpent in her mind, she hoped he would.
The inky blackness of the sycamore grove provided him with an excellent view of the villa as well as concealment. From his vantage point Coluber could see the one-armed body-guard sat on the waist high wall of the porch.
He’d watched the occupants for the past three days and nights – the victim, his woman and one-arm. One-arm had the look of a fighter; his movements fluid, efficient. He carried a short sword with him at all times and was doubtless very proficient in its use. He would be the main obstacle, the youth and his whore would be much easier. Flavia wanted no surv
ivors. An evil bitch that one, but he’d still like to fuck her, like he’d fucked her messenger. He grinned, picturing their recent encounter.
Since his arrival he’d registered every detail of the small villa and its access routes. He knew what times the occupants took their meals, washed and visited the latrine.
He smiled glibly as he turned his attention to the amber glow from the bedroom facing the sea. The noble and the girl were there, probably fucking. A thrill ran through him as he pictured cutting them as they coupled. It was not the first time that he’d sent victims across the Styx under such circumstances, and he’d enjoyed the act all the more.
He knew these would be his last kills; the last of many. He gauged the total number as a hundred at least. He was barely twenty summers when he’d killed his first man, and it had not been for money but over a woman. A woman whose name he could no longer even recall. The killing had got easier afterwards, notably when he killed for silver. Men, women it hadn’t mattered to him, as he’d butchered scores of both. But, he’d not take a child’s life again.
Six years past he’d been paid handsomely for dispatching an infant of noble blood. The act itself had shaken him more than he’d imagined, and afterwards he told himself that the stab to his conscience would pass. It never did, and the stark image of the deed still visited him on the blackest nights, leaving him shaken and maudlin for days.
Shaking the bad memory from his head, he concentrated on one-arm, who now stood and stretched. He would retire soon, close to his charges. One-arm was good, and had not given him any opening to do his work. But, he’d be patient, knowing that his time would come. There would be a brief lapse, a dropping of the guard; there always was. And, he never failed…
A large crow cawed from the tiled roof of the villa. Sat in the small atrium, Drilgisa listened to the bird’s singing.
He’d always found the avians’ songs relaxing, and his people held particular beliefs about them. He remembered his mother telling him that some birds like a flock of sparrows meant good fortune. Birds, she believed, were the way that their gods communicated with mortals and that people should not turn their backs on them. They were sent to encourage, or warn or just demonstrate their power over man. The owl or crows in a line were a warning of some dark event, and an eagle gave hope just by their sight. A solitary raven landing nearby, she told him, was an omen of coming battle. She predicted that their time as messengers was coming to an end, that because we failed to recognise them as such, the gods would take this gift of portents from us. Regardless of whether he’d believed her words with any conviction, her instruction had always stayed with him.
He’d rented the property near the Nola Gate in the quieter north east section of the city. The small villa gave him privacy and was only a short walk from the Nola Palaestra with its large grove of plane trees. It was a place where he felt at ease, when the simmering anger inside him burned less hot…for a short while.
Walking from the atrium to the bedroom, he stood at the open veranda doors to view his small garden. He watched Edo, the young house-boy, water the shrubs around a neat patch of grass. Albus had recommended him when Drilgisa had stated that he was looking for a servant to maintain his property. Albus, keen to please him, had also recommended Africanus, the newest of his catamites, who he described as a “rare exotic jewel.” Drilgisa had not been disappointed. So impressed was he, that he’d offered to pay the lino an additional fee for the slave to visit him at his property. Albus had been happy to accept.
From the first night their coupling had been different; passionate but not cruel.
Africanus was a sensuous and attentive bed-mate, and aroused Drilgisa more than any other had. Despite Africanus’s vain and shallow nature, he found that he was increasingly anticipating their arranged times in the bedchamber. Despite the excitement and pleasure, there was no endearment, not as there had been with Mensah. Drilgisa preferred it that way. Africanus was simply the food that fed his hunger.
Bored with watching Edo’s sweaty pottering he turned his attention elsewhere. There were no shadows to watch lengthen – the clouds overhead were small and high up and the shadows they cast were pale and fleeting. Shade was scarce and everything looked bright in the dazzling sun. He watched a small lizard traverse the garden wall at an odd angle, occasionally stopping to consider him through bulging eyes.
Bare foot-steps at his rear caught his attention. He knew who it was. Africanus padded elegantly across the stone floor towards him, white teeth flashing brightly in his dark face.
“What’s on your mind that makes you look so pleased with yourself?” Drilgisa asked.
“Merely anticipation.” Africanus’s ebony hair fell braided to his slim shoulders. Large almond shaped hazel eyes were set above a delicate nose and full, sensual lips. Strong white teeth suggestively bit on a soft bottom lip as he glided provocatively towards him, slender arms crossed in false modesty. His legs were long and smooth, the skin stretched taut like dark velvet over firm muscle.
Drilgisa’s calloused hand stroked the side of his neck, prompting, “Anticipation of what?”
“Of the thrust of your sword, of course. I eagerly await every stroke.”
“And pierced you will be, repeatedly,” murmured Drilgisa, conscious of the stirring in his loins.
Smiling wantonly, Africanus purred softly into his ear, “I see my words please you, and it’s my hope that you will allow my mouth and body to please you equally?”
He felt Africanus’s long fingers stroke his leg, and then glide adeptly to the inside of his thigh, before slipping under his loincloth. The catamite’s expert hand gripped his member firmly, quickly caressing him to hardness.
He found the pressure in his loins unbearable as Africanus's ministrations became more eager. He prized away the long fingers from his manhood, his loin cloth barely concealing the desire that the slave had awakened. Discarding his undergarment he grasped Africanus by the shoulders.
He guided the dark head downwards…
The sound of Edo dropping something in an adjacent room rang out in the shadowy stillness. Africanus flinched at the sound as he stared down at the slumbering figure on the bed. He could still taste Drilgisa’s manhood in his mouth and he struggled to swallow his spit. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the night – the tired bark of a dog, the constant clicking drone of cicadas, and the faint jabber of night revellers in the distance.
Drilgisa was sprawled on his back, oblivious to the scattered sounds that echoed around them. His thick arms were extended across the bed, his ugly mouth open wide. His loud snoring reminded Africanus of a pig snorting. He wondered how the Dacian could breathe at all through the flat wedge of flesh that sat in the middle of his face that passed as a nose? The noise was as repulsive as the man. As always, few words had passed between them, Africanus constantly wary that a careless word could offend the prickly Dacian. Drilgisa had ordered food, a large piece of barely cooked pork, and then gulped it down as if afraid it would be snatched away.
He grimaced as he recalled their earlier coupling. He’d felt sick when Drilgisa touched him with those massive scarred hands; the fingers thick and as coarse as tree bark, his pathetic caresses clumsy. Africanus dreaded his time here and cursed Albus for recommending his services. Their joining was thankfully short-lived and not cruel.
He understood that Drilgisa was capable of much worse things. He also suspected that in a strange way that Drilgisa was acting with as much gentleness as he was capable of. It did not make the experience any more palatable, but he always kept in mind the stories he’d been told about the brutal handling of his predecessors. He knew that he’d have to use all of his skills to keep Drilgisa hard, and satisfied.
After the Dacian was spent, he’d waited patiently for the darkness and for him to find sleep. Drilgisa had paid for him for the whole night, but Africanus had filled his wine cup at every opportunity, and he doubted that he’d wake till dawn. It was his intention to steal away and e
arn some extra silver, knowing that some of his regulars wouldn’t hesitate to accommodate him. He just prayed that they’d not carelessly betray him to Albus, because he knew that the punishment would be severe. He had no fear that someone would inform Drilgisa, as the pig had no friends.
At first, when he’d returned to the brothel, he’d pleaded with Albus to find him a different patron, emphasizing how popular he’d been with an impressive array of Pompeii’s most upstanding and wealthy citizens. Albus had refused to even consider it, and there was no hiding the fear clearly etched on the lino’s face when the matter was raised. Africanus knew then that he’d not change his mind. Still, he wondered what it was that engendered such palpable fear in a seasoned pimp like Albus?
A half moan, half cry escaped the prone figure’s lips. Africanus silently swore, holding his breath. It passed, and for long minutes he studied the rhythm of Drilgisa’s breathing, waiting for it to settle. Satisfied, he looked to where his clothes lay strewn across the floor. His eyes were well-attuned to the darkness and he quickly dressed. He was tempted to pay Edo the house-boy a visit, as he appeared quite sweet, and he’d seen the way the youth had stared at him when Drilgisa wasn’t looking. He was sure he could persuade Edo to part with some of his hard earned silver in return for experiencing something quite special. But, not tonight, as he had other meat to grill.
He padded softly around to the other side of the bed.
Drilgisa’s jug of wine sat on the floor within easy reach. It was still a third full. Africanus scraped the mucus from the back of his throat as quietly as he could. He formed a thick globule in his mouth, before slowly expelling it downwards. It stretched then dropped into the jug with a soft plopping sound.
Africanus stepped cat-like to the door, taking comfort in a very small victory.
Chapter 30
BLACK NIGHT, RED BLOOD